


The Reigate Memoir

by ColebaltBlue



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: "confirmed bachelors", "gun collection", Doyle's story was hella gay, M/M, Story: The Adventure of the Reigate Puzzle, Story: The Adventure of the Reigate Squire, implied Forrester/Hayter, implied Hayter/Watson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-04-03 19:49:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4112830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColebaltBlue/pseuds/ColebaltBlue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A character study built around the events of The Adventure of the Reigate Squires.  Watson solves a puzzle of his own regarding Sherlock Holmes with the help of his old friend Colonel Hayter.  Confirmed bachelors with fascinating gun collections indeed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Reigate Memoir

**Author's Note:**

  * For [biswholocked](https://archiveofourown.org/users/biswholocked/gifts).



> Based on your request, biswholocked, I'm not sure you were expecting this, but thank you for the opportunity to write it. Many thanks to my co-conspirator and beta for her assistance and patience and helping me finally figure out the difference between lie and lay. Maybe.

_It was some time before the health of my friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes recovered from the strain caused by his immense exertions in the spring of ‘87. The whole question of the Netherland-Sumatra Company and of the colossal schemes of Baron Maupertuis are too recent in the minds of the public…_

It is appalling the abuses that are enacted upon the innocent all for the pursuit of profit. Baron Maupertuis should well be remembered as the most vile of people for the horrors that he inflicted upon the natives of Sumatra, but even this recent scandal that dominated the headlines is quickly fading and I suspect he will not be remembered much at all. I did not know it at the time but Holmes was in Europe at the behest of his brother, working with the quiet and anonymous yet powerful men of the governments of Belgium, the Netherlands, and France to uncover and undo the damages of Baron Maupertius before the scandal could cripple the economies of all of Europe and lead to a devastating war. 

At the time all I had known was that I had come home to a flurry of packing and an excitable Holmes telling me he was departing for Brussels for an indeterminate amount of time, but to not expect his return for months. My rather stunned look must have alerted Holmes to this fact that the suddenness of his departure had caught me off guard. The winter had been long and our forced confinement had led to many more arguments than usual, but I had not thought he would want to be rid of me to that extent. He gave me a wan sort of smile. 

"Undoubtedly you will not miss me at first, Watson. And just when you begin, I shall return."

He was gone moments later. I listened to him thump down our steps and slam the door with a shouted goodbye to our landlady.

I had not heard from Holmes for nearly two and a half months when I received my first letter from him - and I use the term letter quite liberally in this case. Contained in the missive were clippings from various newspapers in three different countries and in as many languages. My schoolboy French provided me with enough to understand those stories, but I had to seek the assistance of a friend in order to decipher the Dutch and Flemish stories. 

That help was found amongst one of my many acquaintances at The Criterion bar which I had taken to frequenting shortly after Holmes had disappeared to Europe. When word had spread that John Watson was offering a round of drinks for translation services I found myself entertaining a table full of jovial men all trying to outdo each other with varying degrees of success. 

"There is no mention of this Baron in the English press," Colonel Hayter observed after examining my clippings one afternoon. He was an old friend, and old friends of our sort tended to stay in touch. Although we had certainly exchanged friendly letters over the years, I had not seen Hayter since Afghanistan, but he had wired about a business trip to London a few days ago and I had invited him to spend the night before heading back down to Surrey.

Our speculation about the Baron followed us back to the sofa in front of the cozy fire at Baker Street and we lay about shirtsleeves and stalking feet, drinking Holmes's good scotch as we waited for Mrs. Hudson to retire. I dragged Holmes's indexes off the shelf and discovered that Baron Maupertuis was the principal stockholder of the Nederland-Sumatra company. 

The company had vast holdings in Sumatra and a stranglehold on the Dutch steamship traffic in that area. But he was also far from the casual wealthy investor. According to Holmes's scribbled notes, he took a direct interest in the business operations of the company and treated its holdings, land and capital, as personal property.

The next morning over breakfast, he extracted a promise from me to come visit him in his new home near Reigate. 

"It's dreadfully boring, John," he said with a grimace. "I feel I am going mad in the quiet and gloom and petty politics of the local gentry. Two of my neighbors have been squabbling over a sorry piece of land for years now and will most likely bankrupt themselves before they settle it." 

A few weeks later I made good on my promise and we spent an enjoyable weekend attempting to rid his little corner of the countryside of wildlife with pieces of his collection of Eastern firearms collection. I doubt we managed to effect lethal damage on anything. 

"You must come back again soon, Watson," he said, clapping me on the shoulder as I gathered my bags from his little trap at the train station. "Please bring Holmes with you as well, your stories of him have certainly made me want to meet the man for myself." 

I paused.

"Holmes and I…. That is to say Holmes is not, Holmes does not -"

"Oh no, " he interrupted with a laugh. "I only meant that I do enjoy your friendship, John, and I suspect I would enjoy his as well. You say he is a queer man of unusual habits, perhaps he understanding of the very same in others." 

The Colonel's easy and friendly nature had a way of putting even the most reticent men at ease and I knew that Holmes would find Hayter's gun collection diverting. I knew Holmes felt ill at ease around women-kind and would never willingly visit a house with children in it excepting a truly fascinating case. Perhaps a visit would not be so very queer after all. 

_On referring to my notes I see that it was upon the 14th of April that I received a telegram from Lyons which informed me that Holmes was lying ill in the Hotel Dulong. Within twenty-four hours I was in his sick-room, and was relieved to find that there was nothing formidable in his symptoms._

It was a few weeks later that I received the telegram that sent me scurrying to Lyon. I pressed a cool cloth to his forehead and looked about the room. The congratulatory telegrams were approaching ankle deep as was the clutter that always seemed to accompany Holmes. He was in a deep, but not restful sleep.

The story had broken in the English papers the day before. Short and buried with the other business news that a Dutch businessman had been charged with crimes in connection with irregularities with labor in Sumatra. I knew immediately that Holmes had solved the case. 

I set to tending to my patient. He had clearly suffered a nervous prostration that had left him insensible and I was beyond relieved that he, or someone else, had managed to get a telegram to me to come at once to his side. I availed myself to the local chemist for cocaine. Although I abhorred the drug myself, there were clear signs of its heavy use scattered about the room and I knew that a strong dose would rouse him enough to get him home to London. 

The chemist's assistant, a fine young man, arrived at our room a short while later with the requested dose. "Monsieur Holmes?" he asked, looking around me towards the bed. I started in surprise. 

"Yes," I replied, and opened the door further. He brushed past me, to my surprise, and hurried over to the bed reaching for Holmes's hand. 

"Philippe," Holmes murmured. I stared at them in shock. 

"Excuse me," I stammered and left the room quickly. 

Still in a state of disbelief at what I had just witnessed I headed downstairs to make travel arrangements back to London for that very night. When I returned to the room Phillippe was gone at Holmes was sitting up on the bed, fresh from the dose of cocaine I had procured for him. 

"Watson," he said, cautiously. I set myself to gathering up our things. 

"We need not speak of it, Holmes."

He was silent for a moment. 

"Truly, Holmes. I understand, myself, you see, and it does not change anything."

"Thank you, Watson," he replied as he watched me. We did not speak again except when I asked him if he was comfortable for our journey. 

On the ferry from Calais to Dover, I resolved to convince him to convalesce at Colonel Hayter's in Surrey. Surely the comfort of being around two other confirmed bachelors in a safe household for a week or two would help my friend recover from his ordeal. 

It was just over a week later that we found ourselves relaxing with brandy and cigarettes after dinner in Hayter's gun room. Holmes and Hayter had been discussing the finer points of gunpowder and I had long since lost track of the conversation and had allowed my mind to wander. I was pleased for easy camaraderie and certainly would not begrudge Hayter for visiting Holmes later that evening as I had no expectations for myself.

 _“By the way,” said he suddenly, “I think I’ll take one of these pistols upstairs with me in case we have an alarm.”_  
_“An alarm!” said I._  
_“Yes, we’ve had a scare in this part lately. Old Acton, who is one of our county magnates, had his house broken into last Monday. No great damage done, but the fellows are still at large.”_  
_“No clue?” asked Holmes, cocking his eye at the Colonel…._  
_...But I held up a warning finger._  
_“You are here for a rest, my dear fellow. For Heaven’s sake don’t get started on a new problem when your nerves are all in shreds.”_  
_Holmes shrugged his shoulders with a glance of comic resignation towards the Colonel-_

I always wrote myself in my stories slightly annoyed at Holmes, and exasperated by his propensity to eschew all good sense in pursuit of a case. Both were slight fabrications. In fact, I was thrilled for a distraction as he could be obnoxious in his boredom, but I was concerned that he would overexert himself so soon after his recent case and relapse his illness when he was supposed to be convalescing.

"Well, I am off to bed," Hayter said, standing with a glance towards me. "My door is open should either of you need anything tonight." He looked at Holmes with a cocked eyebrow, invitation clear. Hayter slipped out of the room and I glanced back at Holmes only to find his displeased expression focused on me.

"You have interesting friends, Watson." He said, his voice dark and tinged with anger.

"Holmes?" I was puzzled. I had thought Holmes would be comfortable with Hayter and had certainly seemed to take to him earlier. At the very least, after our discussion in Lyon, I had at least expected him not to be offended by Hayter's offer.

"I certainly would not appreciate it if my companion invited another to his bed in front of me." He said, sharply.

"Hayter and I are not like that," I began.

Holmes’ snort of derision interrupted me. I did not understand his anger, especially after our relaxed and companionable evening.

"Truly, Holmes. He is an old friend, but I have no claim on him and he has none on me. If you'd like to…" I trailed off. 

"If that is the way you do things, Watson." Holmes stood abruptly and left the room without a goodbye, derision clear in his tone.

I stared after him, perplexed. 

Experience had taught me not to press Holmes immediately when he had a fit of his temper and I left him be that night.

The next day, as Holmes was off with the Inspector, Hayter cornered me.

"I daresay that yesterday evening did not go as I might have supposed, for either one of us?" He asked with a wry smile. I shrugged my shoulders. 

"Holmes took offence, but I do not know why." I related our conversation to him, but left the particulars of how my knowledge of Holmes had changed, that was not my confidence to betray.

"That much is obvious, Watson. He took offence on your behalf. I am clearly a rake with little to no care for your feelings or affections." 

"We both know that is not true!"

"But does Holmes?"

"I only learned of his own nature but a week ago," I defended myself. 

Hayter laughed. "Perhaps you both concealed yourselves from each other for the very same reason. Better to remain friends than to find one’s heart broken." 

I scoffed. "I do not believe that man concerns himself with such matters."

"John," Hayter said, softly, "We may not wish to marry women, but that does not mean we don't wish to marry. When such things are out of reach for us, it is sometimes easier to lock away those parts of ourselves so that they do not become damaged."

I saw the sad look cross his face.

"Theo…" I said, gently.

He gathered himself up. "It takes a great deal of courage to love, Watson, far more than it does simply to be friends who enjoy each other's company."

A knock sounded at Hayter's study door before he could respond. Inspector Forrester's head appeared and he smiled at Hayter.

__

_Mr. Holmes is walking up and down in the field outside,” said he. “He wants us all four to go up to the house together.”_  
_“To Mr. Cunningham’s?”_  
_“Yes, sir.”_  
_“What for?”_  
_The Inspector shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t quite know, sir. Between ourselves, I think Mr. Holmes has not quite got over his illness yet. He’s been behaving very queerly, and he is very much excited.”_  
_“I don’t think you need alarm yourself,” said I. “I have usually found that there was method in his madness.”_  
_“Some folks might say there was madness in his method,” muttered the Inspector. “But he’s all on fire to start, Colonel, so we had best go out if you are ready.”_  


I was not as unobservant as I played in my writings. The Holmes in my stories could often be more character than fact, full of exclamations and observances that in reality had belonged to others. I saw the fond looks Hayter gave the inspector and the indulgence with which he encouraged the investigation. The eagerness with which we joined the investigation and saw it through to the end was mutual. After the thrilling conclusion I nearly embarrassed myself encouraging Forrester to join us all for a celebratory dinner back at the Colonel's house.

"You are worse than a mother with five daughters, Watson." Hayter said under his breath as we all strolled back. 

"Any man who appreciates Jane Austen must surely harbor a secret desire for a happy ending."

He harumphed and made a show of ignoring me. I laughed. 

Holmes turned and walked backwards with his usual loose-limbed grace and gave us both one of his brilliant smiles.

"Watson, I think our quiet rest in the country has been a distinct success, and I shall certainly return much invigorated to Baker Street to-morrow.” He said.

"First you will eat and get a good night's sleep," I argued back good naturedly. Holmes scoffed at me before turning back around and resuming his conversation with Forrester. Holmes was obviously quite thrilled to have an interested audience in Forrester and was currently explaining what injuries would cause which patterns of blood spray when inflicted. I did not remember that particular month of experimentation fondly to say the least.

He was well on his way to a complete recovery.

Hayter kicked me in the shins like a schoolboy when I encouraged Forrester to accept Hayter's hospitality and join us for breakfast as well. I kicked him back. Holmes witnessed the exchange and looked fondly amused by the schoolboy antics. 

Shortly after we all retired, there was a soft tap at my door and Holmes let himself into my room. He was dressed in his stocking feet and shirtsleeves, casual and rumpled. I swallowed heavily and attempted to not allow my gaze to linger on his lean hips and wiry forearms.

"I believe I owe you an apology, Watson." He said softly, uncharacteristically shy. 

"I owe you one as well," I replied. "I truly did not mean to offend you, but instead had hoped you would have enjoyed yourself here."

"I have," he replied with a small smile. "Thank you, truly. But I must apologize for my reaction last night. I do not wish to jeopardize my friendship with you over a trifle."

I took a moment to stop and think about his words. He was trying to tell me something, I knew, and I stepped up and took his hands in mine. They were trembling.

"You won't." I assured him and brought his fingers to my lips. His eyes closed and his lips parted in a soft gasp. 

"Please," he whispered. 

I reached immediately for his shirt buttons and he for the placket of my trousers. We stripped each other quickly and efficiently, mouths kissing and exploring. Our hands stroked and grabbed rather than trailed softly. We weren't rough as we tumbled into bed, moans muted, breath hissing between teeth, but we weren't slow either. Experience had taught me to be clear in what I wanted rather than wasting time. It led to a frank efficiency in lovemaking. 

Our hands were wrapped around one another, moving steadily, mouths kissing and nipping, but not distracting when I realized that we were in grave danger of treating each other exactly like friends who seek companionship in one another. Something that was sure to break us both in the end if I were to heed Hayter's warning. 

My hand went around Holmes's and stilled it. I let go and stroked his cheek in apology. 

"We are safe here, until morning," I whispered. "We have no reason to hurry."

Holmes pulled back slightly and looked at me, eyes glittering and pupils blown with lust. I smiled at him and kissed his jaw softly, lips trailing down his neck and ending with a soft bite at his jutting collarbone. He choked back a moan and arched into me.

His hands moved to my hips and trailed over my buttocks and he wiggled a little to bring us together, encouraging me to rest my weight against him. I rocked gently against him and was rewarded with a soft noise of pleasure. His knees came up and bracketed my hips and he arched into me. I wove my fingers into his hair and pulled his hair back as I sucked a bruise into his neck. His breath hissed out between his teeth. 

I took control of our encounter then and Holmes’ increasingly unrestrained moans and gasps of pleasure, the way his hands gripped and encouraged me, and the absolutely debauched way he presented his body to me began to unravel something deep inside me. I had always taken pleasure in sex and was always casual and carefree. I had of course always desired the person and the body, but the possessive feeling of want and need and the almost desperate pull to inhabit this perfect, lithe, smooth, strong, pale body writhing beneath mine was overwhelming. I _wanted_. I _needed_.

I simply could not get enough of him.

"Do you want to fuck me?" he asked, between kisses.

"Do you want me to fuck you?" I countered. 

"Please," he said, nearly breathless. "Please."

I scrambled for my luggage. I was never without my doctor's bag. And my doctor's bag was never without a tin of vaseline. He had propped himself up on my pillows by the time I had located the vaseline and headed back to the bed. His perfect hand held his long cock, frigging it slowly as he watched me stalk back towards him. I climbed on top of him.

"Shall I?" I asked. Holding up the tin. He nodded.

"If you would," he said, airily as he slid down and gestured in the general direction of his organ with a casual and lazy flick of his hand. I laughed. Lazy bastard. 

Shoving a pillow under his hips I pushed his legs open and looked down at him, presented before me. "Watson," he said, his skin flushing pink at my scrutiny. I grinned in pleasure at the rare moment of vulnerability.

"Hush, I am a medical man. I am merely observing," I replied, stroking my hand down his chest.

"You are a ridiculous man."

"And you are in very grave danger of being told to take care of this yourself," I replied as I swiped my coated fingers over his hole. His body gave the most delicious full body shudder.

"I would not dare to presume to interfere with a medical man's observations."

I grinned and shoved a finger in with no warning and was rewarded with an uninhibited cry of pleasure and the sight of his bared throat and straining tendons as he took it. He bore down on my finger as it slid in. I stroked his flank in encouragement.

"More," he said, brokenly.

I eased a second finger in, much more gently than the first. He keened when I slid a third one in. 

"Please," he whispered. His hands clutched at the bed sheets, his head tossed back and forth.

I slid in slowly, but firmly and he took me in a single stroke, his body forcibly relaxing to take my cock in as it tightened everywhere else - in perfect physical control. I wrestled him into position and took a firm grip on his hips, stroking powerfully and slowly. I was determined to wring all that I could from his body that night. 

After I had wrung powerful orgasms from us both, his fingers stroked over my sweat-slicked shoulders as his body trembled with aftershocks and I breathed hotly into his neck. He twined our legs together and I drifted in a delicious haze. 

I awoke a while later to Holmes carefully slipping from the bed. I made a noise of protest and he pressed a gentle kiss to my spine. 

"I should return to my own bed," he whispered against my skin. "I have no doubt that while Hayter would have no problem finding us in our current position and would probably very much enjoy the experience, his maid may not feel the same way."

The next morning I felt invigorated and refreshed. Hayter looked satisfied and Forrester appeared sleepy and content. Holmes was his usual cool and collected self, but I was greeted with a smirk and blushed deeply in response.

Hayter took all three of us to town and dropped Holmes and I at the station in time for the late morning train back to London. He invited us both to visit whenever we felt like it even if he could not promise another case to amuse Holmes with. Holmes laughed and said that the trip was perfectly diverting and he would be happy to come back even if there was not a robbery and a murder to solve.


End file.
